


The Addams Family Thief

by chucklingChemist



Category: Addams Family - All Media Types, Persona 5
Genre: Akechi Goro Lives, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Romance, F/M, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Melodramatic Akechi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Other Characters To Get Added As They Appear, P5R Spoilers, Pining, Premise is thin but we had to get here somehow, They Are Addams After All, adopted family, no beta we die like men, slow plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:08:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27878889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucklingChemist/pseuds/chucklingChemist
Summary: The time is 2017. The place is the United States of America, in the state of New Jersey at 0001 Cemetery Lane. Former Detective Prince and personal assassin to Shido, Goro Akechi, found himself standing here after being forced to leave home in a fate similar to his self-proclaimed rival. Except he got a drafty attic, a host of friends and a guardian who made a damn good cup of coffee. Goro ended up half a world away in front of an abandoned mansion with no hope of ever returning.Or, Goro Akechi gets adopted by the Addams family andthrives
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist, Gomez Addams/Morticia Addams
Comments: 30
Kudos: 92





	1. First Surprise

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm aware that this is a weird idea for a story. It came about after my roommates and I were watching the film and joked about this "The Addams Home For The Homeless" where they adopt every character who have bad parents and become their parents instead. It uh....spiraled. 
> 
> This is basically writing practice for me writing Akechi for a much longer, serious KH crossover I've been slowly hashing out, so it's not going to have regular updates. But it's a fun concept to play with and it's easier for me to wade in with something that's going to be more goofy like I'm used to doing than something more serious. Anyway, to the 5 people who are going to click on it, hope you enjoy!

“Alright man,” his driver said, looking exclusively at Goro and not at the area around him, “good luck with these guys or whatever. Thanks for the tip.”

The door to the uber driver’s car slammed shut as he sped off down the long driveway back to the front of the estate, nearly knocking over Goro’s luggage as his car fishtailed out of view.

Americans. Goro rolled his eyes. Guess he’d have to get used to them. On top of whatever...

He turned around to see the silhouette of his new home against the bright sky. _Whatever this is_ , he thought grimly.

And what a home it was. Goro stared up at the imposing black mansion in front of him, barely able to hide the grimace on his face. It was certainly at one point a fancy mansion, albeit an eclectic nightmare of wood and stone in terms of style and architecture, complete with a cemetery within sight of the entrance. It looked like something out of a gothic comic (not that he read comics _of course_ ) or film, only one step away from dramatic lightning on a stormy night as the house's sole illumination. Not the type of house actually owned by an American family in the modern era offering temporary guardianship. 

All for keeping Goro out of Japan, presumably to keep the former assassin on the straight and narrow. Not in so many words, but after dealing with everything in the Metaverse and turning himself in, he ended up making a deal with the political adversaries of Literal-Piece-Of-Shit-Undeserving-Of-Name: if he slipped out of Japan quietly, they’d largely ignore his crimes and sweep it under the rug as a kid only obeying the wishes of his father and trying not to smear his name. One of them happened to know a family, got in touch with an American family and shipped him out here for free without bothering to tell him anything more than the nationality. 

It was a lie. Goro was not “only obeying the wills of his father” in order to keep his or sperm donor’s honor intact. But the men in politics had a reputation to uphold as much as himself, and they knew if Goro publicly turned himself in any remaining supporters might push the blame on _Goro_ to absolve any guilt from the other parties and petition to pardon him. Both parties knew that.

What he didn’t know was said politician’s family decided to ship him to a family living in a dilapidated mansion next to a fucking _cemetery_.

_It’s better than some places you’ve lived_ , Hereward pointed out. 

Goro scowled. He didn’t want to be reminded of those places. Hereward was right - obviously he was right, literally sleeping on the streets could be better than the fucking institution as far as he cared. But he crawled, tooth and nail, out of that situation. Alone. 

And yet, here he was. Not Goro Akechi, Detective Prince of Japan. He was Goro Akechi, unwanted orphan on the doorstep of an uncaring family far away from home. Except this time, he was seventeen and an ocean away from his real home with no hope of return. Cast away, not from individuals, but the whole society, never to return. Even the uber driver offered via the politicians wheeled out of sight the second he pulled his belongings out.

( _Everyone except one who’s convinced you’re dead_ , Hereward chided, _or are you enjoying reveling in the melodrama? If so, don’t mind me. I’ll pipe down._ This time Goro didn’t bother to humor Hereward with the impression he was listening in.)

He walked up the short remaining segment of driveway to the front door. His gaze immediately caught the antique, sleek black -- was that a _hearse_ ? Did this family really drive a _hearse_ \-- car sitting just outside the driveway. Good. Someone was likely home. Better to rip the bandage off now rather than sit and stew about every what and if that got him in this situation in the first place. 

A gloved hand hovered over the doorbell, uncertainty and dread taking over. Surely there was another answer. With a mansion of this size, unless the doorbell was wired to every single one of those rooms, who knows how long he’d be standing here waiting for an answer. And, quite frankly, the likelihood of such was low enough he felt embarrassed for even thinking about it. Not to mention, even if it did reach every room, he’d have no way to _know_ they knew. The family could very well just leave him, right here on the doorstep, until someone else ultimately came about.

No, there had to be another answer. A key to the mansion, maybe. Goro might have been a detective for good publicity, but he did plenty on his own accord too. And if this fucked up house had a bizarre initiation process just to be accepted in, _he would rise to the challenge_. 

He dropped his singular bag onto the stone step, black gloves resting gently atop. He started with the obvious answer: under the doormat. If you could call it a doormat. Most doormats he experienced in his time were more like small throw rugs made of fabric, sometimes with kitschy sayings, other times as little more than a location to take off your shoes without tracking debris into your apartment. Their doormat was made out of an unfamiliar fiber, notably thick and tightly wound but surprisingly soft to touch. It featured some sort of unfamiliar Latin phrasing on it, one Goro made a mental note to translate later when he had access to the mansion interior. Interesting, but hardly eye catching compared to the rest of the mansion. However, upon flipping the mat, he found nothing.

Useless.

He turned around, gaze swooping the grounds for a potted plant or noticeably fake rock. But no, any plant going up the long driveway grew in an organized chaos, not a single potted. And fake rocks? If they had any, they were so well placed they appeared identical to the real ones. Goro would have to turn over every single one nearby just to--

A north wind cutting through his coat stopped his thoughts. “What the hell?” he asked aloud. “It’s _March_.”

At that moment, any ideas of looking for a key left his mind. He instinctively reached for the doorknob, desperate to get out of the wind and into anything warmer. It stuck, but with some extra force applied it opened with ease. Goro found himself in a foyer, opposite a dark green couch that looked straight out of a rich 1800s France home and a towering pale man who looked like the human incarnation of Frankenstein’s monster, sweeping away at nothing in particular on the floor. A butler, he realized. 

He shouldn’t be surprised a family with a house like _this_ has a personal butler.

_He heard everything_ , Goro realized as he attempted to fight off the embarrassment. _Just waiting to mock me, I’m sure_.

If the man saw Goro’s discomfort, he didn’t comment. He fished around in his pants pocket to his tuxedo and pulled out a small photograph, one singular eye darting from Goro to the photo itself.

Goro swallowed thickly, forcing any growing discomfort down as he bowed. “Uh...hello. I’m Goro Akechi. I’m looking for the head of household to introduce myself.”

The tall pale man’s hard face cracked a smile. He looked past Goro himself, pointing further behind him toward the luggage on the doorstep.

“Yes, those are my belongings. I’m the new resident. Were you informed of my coming?”

He nodded, and with a grunt, shambled toward the luggage and hoisted it high into the air with one arm. Goro’s gloves, still resting on the top, didn’t so much as wiggle once. With his free arm, he pointed once up toward the top of the mansion, then again at the couch in the foyer.

Okay. He was going to summon the head of household. That’s fine. Whatever. 

Somewhere in the distance of the household, the distant chimes of what sounded like a clock reverberated. Goro pulled his phone out of his pocket. 11:22. No proper time for a clock to sound, at least not in a regular home.

His gaze flicked back down to his phone. Even before the whole Event, his phone was sparse in apps. Anything that collected too much real information he either fed false info to keep his cover up, or used websites that collected so little identifies they'd never know it was him. As such, where most people opened up Twitter or Vine (Music.ly? TikTok? He never kept up with them -- too easy to slip up) when they got bored or openly dmed a friend, Goro didn't. The most he used Twitter for anything other than curating his online image was during the Phantom Thief heydey, scrolling through the hashtag and calculating their overall clout against Goro's. Granted, mostly because none of _his_ associates could be assed to care and dumped it on him, but the personal desire to keep up to date was there, too.

He ended up gravitating toward the Kindle app, finding his way toward the _Lokasenna_ , one of the stories he'd been meaning to read since awakening Loki, yet always had something else to do. (His account was all under a fake name and only ever loaded with gift cards, he should've found a way to redirect Amaniya and his band of merry men to changing Bezos' heart but only _his_ team was allowed to lay out those late targets. His little prize attack dog needn't worry his head about that.) It was funny, really. Amamiya gets his Persona - one of them, anyway - to match his childhood obsession, and Goro gets the American Comic Villain shortly after getting Robin Hood.

He’s warmed up to Loki since then. If nothing else, the bastard was useful.

The minutes ticked by. With every slow page flip, he caught himself catching the time again and again. Thoughts drifted away from the page and about the supposed head of household.

The other politicians hadn’t given him a name. The uber driver who seemed convinced Goro barely spoke English certainly gave him nothing. The butler didn’t give him a word at all, neither a name for himself nor the family themselves. Assuming he spoke. The gestures and mannerisms of him suggested _probably not_ , but maybe his speaking was understood after prolonged exposure to the house. 

Like it’s the Metaverse and that stupid cat owned by that stupid --

His face broke into a scowl. _Oh no. We’re not going into that path again_.

Oh no. It was easier to bury himself into obtuse verse. 

At least that’s what he told himself as he honed in on every creak of the ancient looking wood of the mansion instead of whatever Loki just told Bragi. (“Who the hell is Bragi?” Goro muttered as he opened up a Wikipedia article of Nordic gods that he also didn’t end up reading, once again distracting himself from actually reading.) 

He paused, expression steeled as he clicked on a link to the name of some Nordic figure he most definitely couldn’t pronounce. The creaks he heard earlier were longer, less breaks from one to the other. Rhythmic, but slow. Methodical. The hair on the back of his neck creeped upwards, winding his body tight.

“Who’s there?” he called out to the empty room.

No answer.

Goro sighed. A lack of answer didn’t relieve any feeling. If anything, it made it worse.

He shifted forward on the couch, leaning into his lap with his phone in hand, not bothering to push the loose strands of hair out of his face. 

_Don’t focus on it_ , he told himself while he buried himself further into his phone. _You’re imagining things. It’s just the trauma talking, they’re going to be inept at worst. Not planning on doing anything reckless or dangerous. Stop freaking yourself out. It’s just--_

Something sharp whizzed by him and stuck into the paneling on the wall next to him, the sound making Goro drop his phone to the floor. 

“What the _hell_?” he growled, instinctively pushing the hair (the hair mere centimeters from getting razed by a flying blade, of all things) back behind his ears. 

A rapier. Someone, or something, just threw a fucking rapier at him and missed. An expensive rapier at that, looking at the jewel-encrusted guard. Expensive and who knows how old. Better yet, as his hand wrapped around the grip, it pulled out of the panel with ease. 

Expensive, old and cared for. A rarity.

“En garde!”

Goro whipped around, sword in hand, to the source of the voice: a Latino man with slicked back short hair and a thin mustache over a wicked grin, towered over Goro with a similarly decorated rapier.

Goro’s eyes narrowed as his body naturally shifted into a fighting stance similar to his time in the Metaverse. “Here to kill me on my first day it seems. Very well. You’ll regret threatening Goro Akechi.”

The man’s toothy grin split wider. Goro watched as he took notice of the stance change. 

A bodyguard? No, not if the door was unlocked. Goro’s broken into homes with guards. To say they kept their doors tightly locked under deadbolts at bare minimum was an understatement. But the butler did supposedly go to grab the head of household. That meant this was likely one person.

He lunged forward, forcing Goro to parry. “Ah! Rising to a challenge. Fantastic! An Addams never mistakes one of their own.”

This was the head of household.


	2. Culture Shock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Goro meets the actual head of household, and the type of situation he's in really starts to dawn on him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know, I'm completely surprised by the amount of attention this got with even one chapter. It's a quirky crossover idea, not especially long or anything. But uh....yeah maybe it's a testament to the type of stuff I write, but this is the 4th most popular fic as of the time of me posting this. I mean sure, most everything I have on here are Homestuck OCs so yeah not expecting but but geez. It makes me feel kinda bad it took me a whole month to get back to it, but life's uh...a little hectic right now. Which it's funny, I was the first one in my household to jump on the "Goro Akechi Deserves A Hug, Actually", since after I mediated on it I realized he falls perfectly in line with every other character I like, but my roommates who are usually my beta readers for my fics still didn't really like him but now that they've watched me play Royal they're pretty well sold. I'm keeping the tag, since their mental illness makes it hard around this time of year (and it is mostly writing practice, even if it's fun practice), so I'm not expecting a regular beta or anything.
> 
> Anyway, I'd just like to give a huge thanks to everyone who's left kudos, dropped a comment, (god I would respond to them but I feel so awkward every time I do that already and so then I put it off and then it's like, weeks later and I still haven't responded so maybe it's better to leave it at that point, you know? Man social anxiety is a bitch), bookmarked, subscribed, all that stuff. 
> 
> Seriously, I'm so glad that something for a fandom I actually enjoy and written recently is getting this attention. It mitigates the weird feeling I have that my Twilight oneshot originally written years ago is the most popular. Hopefully that wasn't too sentimental and rambly, but I'm feeling God in this Chilis tonight.

“I’m sorry, _what_.”

Had Goro not spent nearly his whole life needing to work through his surprise, the revelation would have made him drop his sword. Instead, he only missed his window for a proper counterattack. 

"That's why you're here, yes? You're the newest Addams?"

Goro scowled. What the hell was he prattling on about?

He parried the next few jabs sent his way, using it as a chance to assess Addams’ abilities. With every parry, he retreated safely just out of range. Expecting a riposte, no doubt. 

No, worse yet. Goro saw the opening the man gave him with each thrust. For whatever reason, he was baiting him into the riposte, wanting Goro to come into his space instead of the other way around.

Experienced. More so than Goro himself, if the bait was anything to go by. If he had even a chance of pinning him, he'd have to be clever.

Thankfully, he was _very_ clever.

Goro paused, giving the man just enough time to repeat the maneuver once more (make him _think_ you're clueless, he thought) and draw back. As soon as he did, Goro feinted straight toward the man's chest. 

The man staggered backward. His sword immediately went to anticipate a block that never came. Rather, Goro used the momentum to get on the other side of the man. Better to have his back to the greater room than an antique couch.

Right as the man's head jerked back up, damn grin still plastered on his face, Goro tossed the blade in the air and caught it with his right.

Sure, it showed he was - as far as this man knew - ambidextrous. Still, it accomplished two things. The first was a carefully calculated plot to make him think Goro was right handed and simply using his left when it was, in fact, the opposite. Second, the move was flashy; and, as Goro matched his grin with a smug smirk of his own, intimidating. He knew more than anyone how important looking confident did more to get someone to back down than actually doing anything. 

At least, it should be. 

He gave a deep belly laugh. "Ah, both hands. You scoundrel!" He thrust straight toward Goro's torso. The blade nicked his clothes before he had a chance to pull back. No tear, but the hole in his jacket was immediately noticeable.

Oh. 

The _bastard_.

Anger and competition simultaneously welled up in the pit of his stomach. No way he was about to let this man get the only hit on him, a hit resulting in _tearing his clothes._ Not when he had so few anymore. Absolutely not.

He jumped straight to the offensive. Each furious thrust of the rapier went right to Addams' chest, his belly, his torso. They came faster and faster. Goro’s own movements felt like a blur. 

Yet, each blow, no matter where, Addams parried. With each parry, Addams would laugh that stupid boastful laugh and push a little onward, like he was _having fun_ toying with him.

The back of Goro's legs hit something hard, forcing his focus away for just a split second down. 

_Shit_.

In his haste to press, he hadn't noticed Addams managed to back him straight into some ornate end table, gilded to give the image of shimmering bats flying up the legs.

That was it. If he didn't do something now he might die.

For real, this time.

He parried off another blow Addams threw his way, using it to rest his heel against the wood of the table. It was hard. Sturdy. An experimental push with his foot did nothing to move it.

Addams thrusted toward Goro's sword arm, only missing due to a sidestep. Another second and that damn blade would've dug straight into his shoulder.

"Come now, we're just warming up!" he exclaimed.

"I'll show you _warming up_!" Goro hissed. 

He launched himself forward using the table, straight toward Addams, manic grin spreading. Way too fast for the bastard to parry. No way to go back now.

"Gomez!"

A feminine voice rang through the room, cutting through the tension in the air like butter. It caught Goro off guard enough he stopped his assault, looking around wildly for the source.

He wasn't the only one. Everything about Gomez's stance changed. Where just a second it was guarded and ready, now his sword hung uselessly on his side as he strode over toward the entry room, arms out in greeting.

In the next instant, the source of the voice appeared. A tall, elegant woman in an all black floor-length gown walked straight into the open arms of Gomez. She was pale, ethereally so, with cheekbones sharp and high enough Goro was absolutely certain they weren’t natural. Still, it made her look exactly like she belonged in whatever type of fun house he landed himself in, for whatever that’s worth.

" _Cara mia!"_

The sword clattered to the floor as the two embraced. The woman appeared to melt into Gomez’s touch, long lashes making it obvious how her eyes fluttered shut. For that brief moment, Gomez forgot about their sword fight. His focus was only on the woman.

“ _Mon cherie._ ”

Goro, meanwhile, stared helplessly, unable to process what unfolded in front of him.

How could someone drop so quickly? Just a minute ago this man -- this _Gomez Addams_ \-- was attacking him with the skill of a fencer he’d never seen, obvious in his intent to harm. But the second someone else arrives it’s over? Was it all a ruse? A ploy to push Goro as far as he could immediately, to give a reason to throw him off to the side? 

When they finally separated, he locked eyes with the woman. She gave him a small smile, one that dropped when she saw the rapier in his hand.

“Gomez,” she said. It sounded somewhat like she was scolding him, but also….not. Like she was teasing him over something. “I thought we agreed to postpone the sword fighting until after he’s settled.”

“Ah….yes. We did. But!” Gomez swiped his sword off the ground in an effortless motion. “Had you seen the way he reacted, you would have done the same. The way he pulled his sword out of the wall! And his showmanship!” He slid the sword into a holster that had apparently been around his belt the whole time and took hold of the woman’s hands. “Pugsley doesn’t hold that skill yet!”

“My dearest, you and I both know Pugsley’s interest is the sciences,” the woman said.

“True true…and his potioncraft is more than excellent.” Gomez laughed. It sounded similar to his laugh from the fight, but softer. More intimate. “Still, to have a boy to continue the art of swordplay with me….how fortunate are we, Morticia, to have a new Addams to the family?”

She let out an equally soft laugh. Goro resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but you didn’t explain that last time,” he said stiffly. 

Morticia nodded. “In due time, we’ll get there.” She patted Gomez’s hands. “Gomez, dearest, can you check up on the children? I’ll work on getting him settled in before they come back.”

Gomez brought Morticia’s hand to his mouth and kissed it. “Of course.” He separated again, turning around to wave to Goro. “Welcome to the family, young Addams!” he said as he walked out. “And please, keep the sword as a token!”

Morticia tutted, shaking her head, the smile on her face returning. “I am quite sorry for his behavior. We agreed to minimize calling you Addams until you felt comfortable here, but I’m afraid his excitement got in the way. You know how expectant fathers are, I’m sure.”

No. He didn’t. Goro didn’t know how _fathers_ were, much less expectant ones. He imagined it was roughly whatever Shido wasn’t, but the man was less a real person and more a collection of toxic traits pretending to be a person, so the basis of “not Shido'' opened up so much he wouldn’t know where to start. Before that there were the foster parents but….to call them _parents_ was a stretch. Supplying a temporary roof over his head and the occasional meal didn’t make a parent, even a foster one. 

His only basis on “fatherhood” was watching Sakura with his adopted child and Ren from an outsider’s perspective, and even then only in Maruki’s Hell World where as far as he knew, that wasn’t Sakura’s true personality. Ren told him bits about Sakura as a person and a father figure during that year beforehand, but never much. Not enough to go into anything about his potential as a father excited for a new child.

 _He was always suspicious of you. Amamiya never wanted to spend time with you. That’s why he never told you anything about Sakura,_ the darker, angrier part of him snarled. Goro forced it down. That part of his life was over, anyway. No use thinking about it.

Plus, he certainly wasn’t about to tell _Morticia_ any of this. Morticia Addams was a stranger. She didn’t need to know the ins and outs of his old life. 

Instead, he plastered on a polite smile, nodded and said, “You have no need to apologize. Emotions were running high on both ends. It’s not every day I walk into a household and get handed a sword.”

“Yes, well. I suppose we do things a little differently around here.” She let out a low chuckle. “I know how some mothers get about their children and social media, but Wednesday’s a smart girl. If she has any questions about what she finds, she knows to come straight to me. I don’t want her obtaining any delusions about inspiring their eternal servants into uprising and usurp the Unseelie King just by stepping into a fairy circle.”

The desire to ask Morticia Addams just what the fuck she was talking about creeped into his head again, but he clamped it down. 

After all, this one he recognized. He still held memories where he read some European book involving fairies and mushroom circles, and how he laid in a mushroom circle for twenty straight minutes at age nine in a desperate bid to get swept up by the fae and away from his life there. There was never a desire to usurp, like this Wednesday apparently, just to leave. 

When the foster mother found him, she yelled at him for fifteen minutes for getting his clothes dirty.

“By the way,” she continued, yanking him out of his thoughts, “While I haven’t personally studied the Japanese language to speak with much fluency, I can do my best to make you comfortable. Would you feel better if I call you Akechi, or is Goro acceptable? We won’t make you don the Addams name until you feel comfortable as one. If that’s never, that’s fine too. It’s what makes you feel the most at home here.”

“I--” His breath caught in his throat, forcing him to swallow it back down. 

He hadn’t thought this far ahead. What he preferred to be called was never a question before. Pretty much everyone in his life called him Akechi, or some natural variant thereof. He never let anyone close enough to call him Goro, nor really did anyone before he became The Detective Prince really try. Not even any of the Phantom Thieves, before and after the attempt on their leader’s life, ever called him Goro. It was always Akechi. 

Granted, he still, however faintly, remembered his mother calling him _my little Goro_ as a small child and sometimes, when they both stayed out too late at the Jazz Jin and Goro let his walls down a little too much, he didn’t mind when it slipped out of Ren’s mouth like the mistake it probably was. But otherwise? In everyone’s except his own head, he was Akechi.

Although he wasn’t anticipating the family who agreed to take him in to _ask_ , when none of the others ever did. So, in his defense, there wasn’t exactly a precedent.

“Akechi is fine,” he said eventually. 

_Akechi_ was familiar. _Akechi_ kept him, if not safe, safer. 

Akechi was the last connection he truly felt to his mother.

For what it’s worth, Morticia Addams looked like she understood. “Of course, Akechi. And, in the spirit of things, you are free to refer to me however you feel most comfortable and within reason. So please, while I would love you immediately call me Mom or Mother, if you must use titles I prefer _Dark Mistress Addams_ over _Mrs. Addams_ \--”

“--Morticia will be fine, thank you,” Goro interrupted. “Please, don’t take offense. This whole thing is a lot to take in.”

“Yes, we realize that. Please Akechi, do take your time adjusting. Moving away from your home is such a beast, I can only imagine what it’s like to completely uproot the way you did.” She walked closer to him, making Goro realize just how tall Morticia _actually_ was, easily able to see him eye-to-eye without needing to look up in any fashion. 

Perhaps she wore heels underneath that dress. Or maybe everyone in the Addams household was just freakishly tall. 

“Now, the children and Uncle Fester are out at the moment, and Gomez is checking up on them, so it seems like-- oh would you look at that.” Morticia sighed and shook her head. A hand came up to his chest, right to the hole Gomez poked earlier into the fabric. The warmth from her hand burned and in that moment Goro thanked whatever god or demon out there her focus was on the hole and not on his bright red face.

“Excuse me?”

“This hole. Was it here when you arrived?”

Goro bit his tongue, brain already forming a lie. He knew where this was going. _That_ was their ultimate goal, clearly. Bait him into a situation to get his own belongings damaged, then berate him for being so careless and stupid for ever getting into that situation in the first place.

He wasn’t going to fall for their trap.

“Wait, no,” Morticia said. Goro cursed inwardly, fighting off the physical wince to go with it. He moved too slow. This was it. This was the part where they yell at him. Everything beforehand was just to catch him off guard. “Gomez is getting careless in his excitement, I see. I’ll have to remind him not to play so rough with near-strangers. Even ones honed in the art of swordcraft.”

“I--right. Yes, of course.”

She wasn’t wrong. It was the stupid hole Gomez put in his jacket not long ago, the one that got him so angry in the first place. He simply wasn’t _used_ to the parent immediately acknowledging where they were at fault. 

Her bright red lips curled upward just enough to look like a smile as she stepped toward the staircase, beckoning him. “Come now. I’ll show you to your room. And after you get a tour of the house I’ll get that patched up for you. Preferably before the rest of the family returns. I want you to get familiarized before the children return.”

“Why before?” Goro asked suspiciously. 

“Wednesday and Pugsley can certainly be a handful to even the best of us. And if your history is true,” she hummed pleasantly, as if Goro’s history involved a lifetime of traveling the world instead of murder, “I’m afraid they’ll badger you for gruesome details the second they meet you.”


	3. House Tour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Goro broods, all while insisting he's not brooding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I, once again thank everyone for the kudos/comments/bookmarks that managed to turn me into a blubbering mess upon seeing them. Also let me take this chapter to give a big shout out to my parents for being good people and good parents, never barged into my room without knocking and getting my permission first unless it was laundry or some other kind of delivery and generally treated it as my space which is, I've learned, somewhat abnormal for parents. Thank you for making it easier to write the Addams.

Goro had to admit, he didn’t properly remember a significant portion of his life during the years in the foster system. Traumatic moments, like getting yelled at for getting his clothes dirty or getting punished for other kids stealing his few belongings (all books, they were almost always books), remained no matter what he did to repress them. More neutral moments though, assuming they existed at all, he generally forgot in the mess of everything else. One of the neutral moments he still held memories though was the introduction phase.

In reality, the only reason he imagined such memories hadn’t completely faded lied in the general uniformity of how introductions went. Generally speaking, after Goro and the parental figures met, they walked Goro around the house and insisted on “getting to know him”, forcing him to talk about subjects he didn’t want to talk about to people he didn’t know. Eventually, every time, they’d give up making him talk about himself and would wax poetic about their own family before deep diving into all the house rules that applied to him and him alone. If he was lucky, they’d skip the “pretend to care” phase and move straight into the wank phase. It wasn’t a nice pattern, but it was a familiar one that allowed Goro to settle into the usual stock routine phrases and affirmations until they finally left him alone. 

This pattern was already skewered when his introduction to the house was a swordfight. And, while he still hadn’t figured out Morticia’s game, the way she talked and spoke as they advanced toward his room like he had any actual say in anything was quickly veering him off his standard course.

“Unfortunately, your documentation didn’t assist in our ability to decorate your room, so I hope you don’t mind it’s a little barren for now.” _Just about every bedroom I’ve stayed in is barren, spare me your pity_. “If you have any strong desires to properly decorate it, do let us know. Uncle Fester’s caused some problems with the wiring upstairs lately and we don’t want to see you get electrocuted. Unless you want to get electrocuted, but we’d prefer to give you and your partner the proper talks before breaking out the chair.” 

He made a conscious choice not to remark on the implication he or anyone he’d get involved with would _choose_ to get electrocuted and focused wholly on the first half. “I’m not surprised. I prefer to keep to myself, is all. Hopefully that won’t cause an issue.”

“Perhaps a canopy bed then? I always find closing the curtains off to the world quite peaceful when I need alone time.” She looked next to her, ensuring he was still close by, as they got up to the top. It led up to a wide hallway, shockingly sparsely decorated in comparison to whatever room they stood in at the bottom of the stairs. Doors went along the outside of the wall, broken up only by the paintings.

 _So they keep the sleeping space all on one floor_ , he mused. Not a bad idea. It ensured a reprieve away from the rest of the world, if only for his room. 

And it meant, for whatever reason, they kept his room with everyone else’s instead of using a spare. Interesting.

“I’ll think about it,” he said. 

He never had a canopy bed. He doubted they would actually give him a canopy bed, but a second of senseless indulgence over the image of him reading late into the night, curtains shutting him off from everyone and illuminated only by the light struggling to filter through was pleasant and hurt no one. 

Still, the answer pleased Morticia. She gave him a short nod in affirmation and continued down the hallway, straight toward a room on the right side of the floor firmly in between two other rooms. “Your room is here. It used to be my sister, Ophelia’s, but she’s moved on to join the circus,” she said. She walked toward the room and opened the door to the room. The ornate brass door knob stuck, and the door’s creak was loud enough to wake the dead, but it opened. “It’s in between Grandmama and Pugsley’s. If you can’t remember, feel free to decorate to make it easier.” She paused to gesture down the hallway. “Ours is right down the hall, next to the sitting room.”

“And my belongings?” he asked.

Morticia didn’t answer with words. She merely opened the door the rest of the way.

He wasn’t quite sure if he agreed with her assessment the room was _undecorated_. Plain, maybe. Especially with the obvious Victorian-era aesthetic all the furniture took, it was hard not to notice the stark simplicity of the staples of any bedroom: the simple black down comforter covering the four poster bed, the tall cherry-wood vanity with a sheet draped over the mirror as if they were bringing in a vampire into the house, the dark armoire tucked away in the corner next to an actual closet. The only real exceptions came in the form of a blue chaise lounge pushed up against the bay window, and a few sparse skulls and ornate boxes functioning as bookends for assorted, unrecognized tomes pushed up against the wall shelves. If she hadn’t made a note about it being “undecorated”, he would’ve assumed all the bedrooms retained this level of comparative simplicity. Maybe it was cognitive dissonance. Maybe Americans -- or Addams, who knows -- so constantly had their rooms filled with _stuff_ they didn’t know what undecorated meant.

(It was also, despite being emptier than the rest of the house, far more personal than his apartment ever was. That apartment was simultaneously the epitome of modernist style and completely inhospitable to real, living humans for any purpose other than sleeping. Knowing the style of his apartment was identical to Shido’s living space was indicative to him of the asshole’s status as a demon instead of a person.)

And, he slowly realized as his gaze swept back around, the only item on the bed? His luggage.

He moved straight to the luggage, carefully setting the rapier Gomez gave him next to it. The gloves still rested on top. Not quite where he left them, as that would mean the wheels would touch the comforter, but moved in such a way they appeared to have stayed perfectly still while the luggage rotated underneath.

“Like I said, I do hope it’s enjoyable to your tastes.” Morticia gestured toward the inside of the room without walking in. “It was hard to completely remove Ophelia’s influence on the room, but I’m sure as you adjust you’ll add your own personal touch.”

Goro slipped his gloves on and instinctively flexed his fingers as he continued to rake in as much as he could see. “It will be acceptable,” he said. “I don’t have much of a personal style, so I doubt I’ll have many changes. But the thought is appreciated.”

He still hadn’t completely mentally processed the way Morticia spoke about the room being _his_. A room he could live in, decorate however he wants, shut himself away when being polite and nice became too difficult. 

His eyes trailed back down to the rapier, still lying down next to his luggage. If Gomez wasn’t lying, this was _his_ sword. Free to do whatever he wanted with it. 

_It would look nice on the wall_ , Hereward commented, his voice rumbling in Goro’s head. _Above the bed, do you think_? _Or right next to it?_

Goro’s hand instinctively went up to his chin. He _could_ imagine it, much as he hated the fact. There was an empty spot in between the two back posts and the headboard. The jewels would be a splash of color on the dark walls. 

Was it _his_ style? Maybe not. But, the longer he thought about it, Goro wasn’t sure he could define his style. During his time as the Detective Prince, everything about his aesthetic was carefully constructed by Shido and his goons to emulate the previous Detective Prince while attempting to top it. Not that he hated the British style Shirogane preferred -- far from it, actually -- but it was never his choice. It was all to capture the hearts of young women and high school girls unfortunately too heterosexual to appreciate Shirogane’s androgynous presentation. The rapier fit well enough with his prince Metaverse outfit, but Goro wasn’t sure how much of the prince outfit was _Goro Akechi_ versus just his Detective Prince mask. He remembered frustratingly little of his awakening outside of knowing it was some god that gave it to him. It didn’t help that Shido seemed to revel in keeping any of Isshiki’s cognitive psience research that might help him piece it back together completely unavailable. 

Then the other outfit, the one that came with Loki, didn’t match the same neat aesthetics everyone else’s did. He noticed that straight away. Sakamato looked like a punk disaster, Niijima a biker, Okumura, Yoshizawa and Ren belonged in French novel, it was painfully easy for him to list everyone off one by one to their matching aesthetics. But the Loki outfit? _Dark knight_ had a certain ring to it, and hell if the outfit wasn’t incredibly comfortable and protective; but he wasn’t sure if the mental fortitude wearing it gave him was from some implicit desire to be seen like that, or just felt powerful keeping as much of himself obscured as possible, and that’s why the outfit came in all black with a helmet. 

And now? Asking Sakura, or Niijima or -- God forbid -- that fucking _cat_ for help gleaning some new insight would be the most humiliating thing he’s done around them since asking for help. Ignoring they also probably believed him to be dead.

(Thank God he was experienced in holding that persona, or else one of them might have realized underneath his fake, princely surprise at the necessity of the calling card was, in fact, _real_ surprise. He remembered storming into Shido’s office, completely furious at the bastard for not telling him something so basic that nearly blew his cover, and the stupid smirk on Shido’s face when he placidly claimed he forgot, and that’s not like it was necessary for him to know about calling cards anyway -- not like _Goro Akechi_ gave a shit about changing hearts, right?

The injuries he received after throwing himself wildly at Shadows in Mementos to try and cool down hurt for days. But, the weird level of affection and worry Ren showed him, somehow thinking it was _his_ fault for pushing the group too far, almost the whole damn thing worth it.)

“Akechi? Are you alright?” Morticia’s gentle voice pulled him out of his stewing thoughts. He whipped his head around to see she still hadn’t moved, hands folded neatly along her waist. “You’re free to stare off and brood as long as you like, but ideally it’s more comfortable to brood lying alone on the fainting couch, you know.”

“I wasn’t brooding,” he lied. 

“Pondering, then.” She let out a small chuckle, the kind where her mouth doesn’t open but he could hear it anyway. “Still, pondering is something I personally do best alone.”

Goro raised his eyebrows. With other households, he knew how this went. This was their quiet encouragement to shrug off his holed jacket, dig out a far less comfortable jacket he only wore when he wanted to disappear into the crowd, and continue on with the house tour like he didn’t just stare off into space. “So you’re requesting I _ponder_ at a later date to finish the tour of the house?”

“Of course not. We can continue when you feel most comfortable.” She gestured toward the armoire in the back, still making no motion to come in. Goro resisted the urge to frown. _What kind of mind game is she playing where she won’t walk into the room?_ “Either way, I unfortunately can’t fix your jacket if you’re wearing it.”

Well, this time she halfway followed his expectations. She still wanted the jacket. 

He sighed, fingers messing around with the buttons, yet not really taking it off. A part of him had hoped she might not care and he could keep it on for a little longer, hole be damned. He didn’t want to dig around the, quite frankly, pitiful amount of clothing he was allowed to keep with him. Not with her watching. Not where she might see all the scars raking his body from every close call. 

“You don’t have now if you don’t want to,” Morticia said. “It’ll end up in the laundry eventually.”

Goro scowled at the wall. 

Of all the tricks to pull, was she really going to pull the passive aggressive “ _oh you don’t have to if you don’t want to_ ” maneuver? Make him feel guilty? Well, like hell he was going to give her the satisfaction. 

He fumbled angrily with the buttons, making quick work of getting off despite his clumsy fingers. The next thing he knew, the tan jacket fell to the floor and he stood in the middle of the ( _my_ , he reminded himself) room in his dress shirt and tie.

Goro picked the jacket up off the floor and hung it neatly against the post. Shockingly, it didn’t look completely out of place against the rest of the furniture. The tan complimented the dark wood, helping him notice some of the brighter accents and intricate carvings otherwise missed along the post. 

In fact, how old _was_ this bed? He never found much interest in studying interior design, but it had to be at least Victorian. But did Victorian style get this in depth? He had no idea.

He shook his head, forcing him to stop _pondering_ before it even started. Not now. If he was going to make it through the tour of this probably-drafty house, he’d need a jacket.

It didn’t take long, but eventually he managed to dig around for another jacket, light gray and otherwise unremarkable, and slide it on. It still felt new and harsh against his skin, but it was warm. That’s all that was important. 

When he was finished, he swiped his old jacket off the post and unceremoniously handed it over to Morticia. Her arched brows were raised, and the small smile she’d been wearing dropped. She looked...puzzled? Why would she be puzzled? 

Wasn’t this what she wanted -- his damaged jacket before they finished the house tour? 

“Well?” he asked as he smoothed the new jacket down. “I’m ready to continue.”

The rest of the house tour was, relatively speaking, uneventful. She showed him the other bedrooms first, starting with the master as an excuse to drop off his jacket. Just like she said, it was right down the hallway from his own, next to the upstairs bathroom. Morticia apologized profusely over how he’d share a bathroom with some of the other family members, namely Wednesday, Pugsley, and Uncle Fester. Grandmama (or Hester, if he felt uncomfortable calling her Grandmama), and naturally the master bedroom had their own bathrooms. After living alone for so long, it was a minor annoyance, but one he could put up with. In comparison to his introduction to Gomez being a sword fight, the necessity of sharing a bathroom felt mundane by comparison.

Upon returning to the ground floor, Morticia was eager to show all the curiosities and niche rooms littered throughout -- somehow, the family had enough money for a greenhouse, private library, sun room, “train room”, and completely separate playroom alongside the necessary kitchen, dining room, servants quarters, guest bedrooms, and walk-in pantry.

“There are other rooms, of course. This old house is filled with secret passages and hidden staircases if you choose to look for them,” Morticia said. Now finished, they stood in front of one of the guest bedrooms. One of the only rooms he felt justified in calling undecorated. More so than his own room, anyway. “And there’s the grounds. But I thought we’ll worry about that when the weather’s warmer.”

Goro’s gaze fell toward the descending staircase that followed the opposite wall. “As opposed to the one in the open?” he asked.

“Oh yes. That one. Well, that leads to the dungeon. You have no use for it at the moment, so I saw no need to show you.”

He blinked owlishly. “Is there a time I’d need it?”

A dungeon. That was new. He shouldn’t be surprised, really he was introduced to the family via sword fighting for his life, it makes sense they have a dungeon. But why the absolute hell would they think he’d have a _need_ for it?

Morticia gave him a mischievous smile. “Perhaps when you meet that special someone,” she said.

It _should_ have also dawned on him that with how disgustingly affectionate Gomez and Morticia were earlier today, and the comments about electrocution, they’d have something like a sex dungeon. But then again, this family felt so weird already, he wasn’t sure if _that_ was more surprising, or having a traditional medieval torture dungeon.

He went back to fiddling with his gloves, doing his best to ignore how brightly his face burned. “Right. Yes, of course. I’m sorry for asking.”

“Nonsense. It’s only a question. We’re not going to punish you for something like that.” She put a hand on his shoulder, the same damn warmth from earlier flooding his system and forcing his whole body to tense up. 

Was he really this pathetic?

“Dinner will be in a few hours, but you’re welcome to retire to your room and ponder. I’m sure this day’s been very long for you.” It was, but he wasn’t going to say it out loud. He’s had longer. “We’ll make sure if you don’t make it to leave a plate wrapped up for you to heat up. It’s not uncommon for someone here to forget to eat, so don’t think we’re imposing on you.”

“I’ll be at dinner,” he said. He stepped away from her touch and gave her a jerky, polite nod. “And I think I shall take you up on retiring to the room. Thank you for the tour.”

Not that he wanted to. The last thing he wanted was to sit around the table with a bunch of people he either didn’t or barely knew and make awkward small talk. What was he going to talk to them about? He’s lived in the United States for all of twenty four hours - _maybe_ \- and wasn’t exactly up to snuff on weather conversation outside of “is this place always so fucking cold or is it me?”. To say nothing of how unlikely it was this family was the type to know anything he’s watched or read. 

He didn’t want a repeat of all the other times.

If Morticia knew about any of these thoughts floating around in his head, she didn’t comment. She merely mirrored his nod, although it looked far more graceful when she did it, and said, “You’re welcome Akechi.”

And just like that, it was done. Morticia exited through a pair of double doors leading back into the foyer, leaving Goro alone in the hallway. 

With a heavy sigh, he let his shoulders slump forward as he trudged back up to his room. Now that all the formalities were over and the mask was off, the bone-crushing tiredness was setting in; making his nerves feel like static rushing up and down his body. And the house? It must have taken a solid hour to walk around the whole damn thing. There have been trips to the Metaverse less exhausting than this.

When was the last time he slept? Certainly not on the plane. And it sure as hell wasn’t as if he’d been getting great sleep in the months leading up to this deal, or ever while playing little lapdog. To say nothing of how exhausting the “good boy, Goro Akechi” mask could be, especially after several months of forgoing it. A testament to how out of practice he was, apparently. 

Each step felt heavier and heavier. By the time he made it up the stairs and into his room, the exhaustion completely set in. He lasted long enough to move anything on the bed off neatly to the side (like hell he was going to fuck with that sword), and flopped right on top of the covers. There was no attempt toward flipping the light switch -- although the light was never _on_ to begin with, the bay window let in an awful lot, maybe he should ask for some proper curtains -- and no attempt to crawl under the comforter. 

Goro closed his eyes. He sunk into the comforter, feeling it surround him like water.

They didn’t give him any chores on the first day. Even gave him a proper bed and a full sized room. Probably wouldn’t notice if he didn’t show up at dinner. Unlikely they ate together anyway. He sure as hell didn’t sleep any longer than a few hours at a time to begin with. As far as he was concerned, right now, a quick moment of shuteye would only work in his favor. 

Distantly, some time, somewhere, he registered the sounds of small footsteps shuffling through the hallways. Scuttling about from probably a family cat or the like. Something that sounded like organ pipes. The creaking of the house.

The door opening.

Goro eyes shot open. He quickly whipped his head around to get some bearing of his location again. The only light in the room came from the faint moonlight streaming through the window. Everything else remained the same.

Shit. How long was he asleep? He told himself only a few hours, _at most_ , and now here he was on top of the sheets, hair sticking uncomfortably to his cheek from sweat, yet simultaneously shivering and freezing cold.

Another creak, the floor this time. Closer. A shadow darting against the moonlight for just a second proved that it was at least a person. But he couldn’t see shit. 

“I suggest,” he said smoothly as he rolled over to grab the rapier, “you show yourself before I do something drastic.”

Nothing. With a huff, he forced himself up into a sitting position. 

Probably Gomez again. Looking to finish him off in round two, and figured since he missed dinner now was the perfect opportunity. 

“But that’s no fun,” the intruder answered. “I wanted to visit.”

Alarm bells went off in his head. That was a child’s voice. A girl’s. Didn’t Morticia say something about the children?

And it sounded close. Closer than any of the footsteps had.

He gripped the rapier tightly and whipped his head around toward the sound of the voice. Sure enough, there was enough light coming in from the window for him to make out the distinct shape of a girl next to his bed, on the opposite side of his luggage. And in her hand…

A butcher knife.

Somehow, he wasn’t surprised.

 _Oh this day is just getting better and better_.


	4. God Bless The Children

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Goro gets his introduction to the more dangerous of the two children before intended, on her own schedule. And the more pleasant one, on Goro's schedule.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies about these chapters slowly getting longer. It should taper off and settle eventually, but I'm still feeling this whole thing out. Like, I actually know what I want to happen and all that but if you look at my body of work, multichapter stories are more the exception than the rule. Also for the wait. I'm well aware this took a solid month, and the next one will probably take a while with Strikers coming out in 10 days as of the time of me writing this. I mentioned in the notes for my 2/2 fic this fic is currently functioning as "I need to keep an eye on the managers while they learn cash up and some of them need my help enough they don't care if I sit back with them on my phone" fodder, and that's still true now, since it's more fulfilling than scrolling through a blue hellsite waiting for them to make a mistake. 
> 
> Anyway, big thank you to everyone who left kudos/comments and I hope you enjoy!

Goro jumped out of the bed, rapier put in on the defensive. “You wanted to visit with a _knife_?” he snarled. He glanced over at the knife again, the steel glinting in the moonlight. “Not even a proper one for killing, at that.”

The girl shrugged helplessly. “Lurch and Grandmama were in the kitchen using the others,” she said. Like that explained everything about her thought process of sneaking into his room, in what had to be the middle of the night, with a knife and….what? Killing him? 

Well, she would’ve made it further with a standard chef’s knife than a butcher’s knife, that’s for sure. 

He narrowed his eyes, pushing the point of the rapier slowly out toward her. On one hand, he didn’t want to hurt her. Hell, a significant chunk of him didn’t even want to scare or threaten her the way he’s kept himself safe before. This was a _child_. Goro Akechi might be a lot of things - depressed orphan, assassin, faux Detective Prince - but he wasn’t going to be like so many of the adults in his life and take it out on some kid he just met.

On the other hand, the rest of him was staring at the knife in her hand, distinctly aware she was posing a threat on his life. If push came to shove, he would hurt a child. 

“If you’re so insistent on killing me, I at least deserve the decency of a half baked plan,” he said dryly. He pushed the rapier out a little further, tapping against the blunt side of the knife. “Not that I expect a child to understand the differences of a stabbing and carving implement.”

“Who said I was planning to kill you.”

“Well I’m sorry, how else am I supposed to take coming into my room while I’m asleep, holding a knife and sneaking around like some kind of--” he stopped right before uttered the word _phantom thief_ , of which she most definitely was _not_ “--ghost.”

She stepped closer to the bed, putting her in just enough light Goro could somewhat make out her pallid features and long black hair, pulled back in two long braids. Goro assumed she couldn’t have been any older than ten or eleven, but in the dark it was hard to tell for certain. 

“I told you,” she said and now that Goro properly matched a face to a voice, it was impossible not to notice how well her dry, unemotive deadpan matched the expressionless face, “I wanted to visit.”

“With a _knife_ ,” he drawled. 

“I read the reports Mother and Father were given before you came when they were busy with Pubert.” The girl shifted from one foot to the other, never once breaking eye contact with him. “I know what you really are.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Are you implying they don’t?”

“Am I?”

He stared at her. Was she bluffing? She had to be. While he didn’t doubt they were given ample information regarding his identity -- in fact, he remembered Morticia mentioning his documentation lacking any information necessary for decoration -- he found the idea of those papers lying around where anyone could see them doubtful. 

Still, better to assume both the premise his documentation included his time as an assassin, and this girl's knowledge of it, than the idea either were false. 

"And yet, knowing that you came in anyway." He paused, searching her face for any level of emotion. "You're either quite confident in your abilities, or vastly underestimated my own."

"The former. There are English transcripts of your interviews," she said. "You're just a famous kid detective with one attempted murder under your belt."

Goro knitted his brow. The idea of his Detective Prince persona, a glorified idol, having international appeal didn't shock him. A solid third of the comments on his Instagram were either in English or broken Japanese that had obviously been run through Google Translate. It logically followed ardent bilingual supporters of him translated the press releases and interviews. Who knows, maybe someone in Shido's circle translated everything to get Americans against the Phantom Thieves. It wasn't _his_ idea to put the phony Medjed's threat in English, after all.

No, it was something else that stood out to him.

_One murder?_

He most definitely committed more than one. And successfully, no less. The murder in question she was talking about must have been Ren's. Did the report only mention the ones he did in the real world, the one that was more easily provable? Did she suspect there were more and wanted him to admit it? Maybe the report did mention the other murders, and she wanted to hear him admit it from his own mouth?

He made a mental note to find the documentation they sent the Addams’ and investigate it himself. If this child found it while they were busy, there was no reason he couldn’t. Until then, better to work with any information she supplied and give absolutely nothing else. 

“Worried for your family?” he asked, his voice sounding deceptively calm for the topic. 

He swore even in the dark of the room, he caught the barest twitch of the girl’s mouth before it immediately reverted back to revealing nothing. “No.”

Goro lowered the sword. “So you snuck in here, threatened me with a knife--”

“I didn’t threaten you.”

“Fine.” Goro rolled his eyes. Were most children this pedantic? Was _he_ this pedantic at that age? “Pointed a knife at me while believing I was asleep, all while knowing I attempted to kill someone, all for just a visit? With _no_ ulterior motive whatsoever?”

Another twitch in her face, more obvious this time. Right at the corner of her lips. “That’s right.”

He hummed. “Then allow me to be the first to tell you, since you _so graciously_ insisted on greeting me while I desired to sleep, I have no interest in harming your family. Those days are behind me.” He shifted around so he was facing her completely now, sitting on his knees with the rapier laying across his lap. His hand stayed on the handle, but wrapped around it loosely. The thought crossed his mind to crack a smile to match the physical drop in defenses, but he hadn’t put up the mask around her yet. Starting now, considering the conversation, looked far worse than continuing to be inhospitable. “So whatever you desired to gain from your visit, it’s hardly worth your time.”

Disappointment -- and it was _definitely_ disappointment this time, he recognized it well -- flickered in the girl’s eyes. “Fine. I understand.” She lowered the knife, finally, which was an improvement. Probably. 

“I’m glad we came to such an understanding,” he said. In truth, it didn’t feel like much of an understanding. It wasn’t a lie, even if it was a gross oversimplification of the situation, but he wasn’t sure if that’s the consolation she wanted. Between her lack of general emotion and his continued ignorance of the family, it was difficult to get a proper read on the situation. Most people were concerned for their own mortality, if not the mortality of their family, and she was the first to acknowledge he killed people, so it tracked for their daughter to become worried about a murderer moving in.

But this was simultaneously a family with a sex dungeon where he was greeted with a swordfight. One of these children supposedly wanted to overthrow a fae king and one child undoubtedly stood over his bed with a knife. It was one of the few times his usual airtight logic could very well mean absolutely nothing. 

And the way she continued to stand there, staring at him, like she was still expecting him to do something aberrant, made him wonder if he somehow managed to make the wrong assumption. 

He raised an eyebrow. “Well? I imagine we both need to sleep.”

The girl nodded. “Very well. If you insist.”

And like that, she was gone, slinking out of the room as silently as she came in. Goro waited until the door softly clicked closed to follow behind, swiftly locking the door before setting the rapier on the smooth surface of the vanity. The sound it made when the metal connected to the wood sounded off -- quieter than he imagined -- but with a quick shake of his head, he blew it off as his own sleep deprivation getting the better of him.

As he climbed under the comforter, he only hoped none of the other children living here knew how to pick locks before he finally passed out.

* * *

He wasn’t sure when he woke up the next morning, only that he _did_ , fitful sleep from the night be damned. True to his assessment the night prior, the bay window let in more than enough light to illuminate the whole room. Enough so the streaming sunlight is the exact thing that woke him up, sending a quiet string of curses tumbling out of his mouth. 

Blearily, he rolled out of the bed and onto the floor. Even with his socks on (and oh he was immediately aware he didn’t bother to change out of his clothes last night), the chill of the floor cut straight through to his feet and forced shivers out of his body. It didn’t help that his whole body felt impossibly sore. The twelve hour flight hadn’t done him any favors, that was for sure.

 _Shower_ , he thought. _No. Coffee._

Goro wasn’t a morning person. Never had been, never was. Even as a kid, the allure and activity of the night always appealed to him far more, and he remembered nights staying up far past his allotted bedtime for little more than the thrill of rebellion. It’s what partly drove him into developing a caffeine addiction the minute he had the freedom to do so. Another part was, of course, never having a restful night of sleep after his mother’s death without the need to physically exhaust himself in some fashion. Sometimes it was nightmares. Sometimes it wasn’t. Last night, unless the child was just an especially vivid nightmare, was a more unusual case of the latter.

But first, he wanted to make some kind of attempt to put things away.

He moved his luggage away from its current location propped up against the unused side of the bed over toward the armoire. He still felt too tired for any sort of proper unpacking, but having it closer was good. After a brief moment, he opened up the armoire and shoved the suitcase into the bottom. If he didn’t see it, the residual guilt of not unpacking on the first day couldn’t linger quite so badly. 

As he went to close the door, his gaze caught something above, stopping him in his tracks. Clearly, the woman ( _Morticia’s sister_ , he remembered absently) who previously resided left some of her belongings here. That was the only proper way to explain the gray bathrobe and black turtleneck still hanging up. Most likely expecting her room back whenever she returns from the circus, at which point they’ll shove Goro into the guest room or servant’s room. A reminder there’s no point in getting comfy under the pretense this was _actually_ his own space.

But still…

He looked back up to the bathrobe. It looked like it would fit -- _of course it would fit_ , he reasoned, _Morticia’s as tall as you are, the odds of her sister being comparable height is likely_ \-- and it looked incredibly warm. Soft, too. He wanted to reach out and touch the fluff on the sleeve, test to see if it was as soft and inviting as it looked. Before he knew it, his arm tentatively reached out to feel it.

He clenched his fist, nails digging into his palm. _Stop it_. 

The part of him bogged down by years of experience through the foster system told him to leave it. It obviously wasn’t meant for him, it was at best some forgotten clothing from the old resident never intended for him, and at worst some sort of test of his obedience: a challenge to see if he knew well enough not to mess with anything that wasn’t his. For something like this, he was supposed to report the abnormality, hope the family resolved to take care of it, and move on with his life. 

The more selfish, rebellious part of him wanted to wear it. It was _their_ fault for not moving it out, not his fault for choosing to wear something they put in a room that Morticia was so insistent on calling _his_ room. If they didn’t want Goro wearing a bathrobe that didn’t belong to him to make some coffee, they simply shouldn’t have put it in here. If him strolling down there in the bathrobe was what made them realize that, then so be it. He’d just come up with a quick excuse, something about mixing it up with his own clothing while he unpacked, when they asked why he wore it. 

If it was some kind of test of his obedience, it may as well be his own litmus test of his actual freedom.

He yanked the bathrobe off the hanger and slid it on in a singular swift motion, shutting the door to the armoire before he had a chance to question his decision. It fit well, trailing just high enough above his ankle he shouldn’t trip while walking. And, true to his assumption, it _was_ soft. Incredibly so. The type of soft he imagined was reserved for people in better situations than his, on vacations with sunny vistas and romantic attachments. However, with the general aesthetic of the room and the dark gray of the fabric, he didn’t feel like some rich politician sleeping with his mistress, or whoever went on those types of vacations. He felt like a castle lord, the kind from one of the fantasy books he used to escape from the real world as a child, only with a long bathrobe in place of some dramatic overcoat.

Whatever type of person Morticia’s sister was, she had excellent taste.

 _Twirl_ , Hereward suggested.

 _Absolutely not. I’m eighteen, not some kind of child playing pretend. Those days ended years ago_.

 _No one will see you_. _No one will know_. _The door is locked_.

Goro resisted the urge to groan. _I would know._

He started to make his way toward the door, feeling the swish of the fabric against the bottom of his legs. Memories of stealing his mother’s bathrobe, all for the sake of playing pretend vigilante with his toy gun, rushed back full force. He did it enough that she ended up finding one at a thrift shop for him to wear instead. In a matching color, no less. It was too big, but that only added to the unrestrained glee of letting it whip around his body.

When was the last time he let himself have fun? Childish, silly fun where he didn’t care about being the mature adult society expected of him? Why it probably hasn’t been since him and Ren went to the arcade and--

“Okay, fine you win,” he said out loud, cutting his own thoughts off. “Just this once.”

He stepped out into an empty part of the room, checked around the room to make sure he couldn’t possibly run into anything, and twirled. The robe billowed around him, and when he stopped the turn on his heel, the short back and forth shift of the fabric that seemed to mimic his hair was satisfying in some weird sense he couldn’t place.

He did it again, an experiment in reproducing the effect so he could name it. Then a second time when that failed. A third, for his own sake. By the fourth reproduction, all while failing to verbalize _what_ he felt the first time, he flopped down on the floor with a pathetic smile on his face. The robe pooled around him. Dizziness and nausea set in, and the world swam around him from all the spinning. If it weren’t for that, he _might_ go again, all for the sake of reasoning it out.

Hereward’s chuckle wiped the smile right off his face. 

_Smug bastard_ , Goro thought. Considering his general mood, what was intended to be an irritated jab ended up sounding half-hearted at best. 

That elicited another chuckle from his Persona, one that Goro promptly chose to ignore.

He sat on the floor, idly stroking the soft fabric of the bathrobe while waiting for the nausea to fully subside for a few more minutes, when eventually a soft knock came from the door. 

“Akechi? I take it you’re awake?” 

He looked up at the source of the voice despite knowing the door was still locked. Morticia’s voice managed to sound perfectly clear as if the door was unlocked and she opened it up. 

The fleeting joy from a few minutes ago faded into anger. _Of course_. How foolish of him to forget _what_ he was. His brief remaining minutes of freedom before his new life as whatever the Addams insisted he became was over, and he spent it spinning like a small child in a bathrobe that didn’t belong to him. 

Goro forced the anger down and the mask up as he stood. Thankfully, the world underneath him stopped spinning, and he made it to the door and opened it with little effort. He didn’t greet Morticia with much of a smile, but he made careful sure he didn’t look _un_ friendly either - just a pleasantly neutral expression revealing nothing underneath. “Yes?” he asked.

She looked just as otherworldly in the morning, without any makeup and only in a draping nightgown, as she did when he met her yesterday. Or maybe it was light makeup, the kind designated to keep a “natural” look. The one he was all too familiar with. “Ah, good,” she said pleasantly. “You are awake.”

No mention of the robe. In that respect, he might be in the clear.

“What did you need?” he asked.

“Grandmama has finished making breakfast.” She clasped her hands down around the side of her waist. “Or, if you prefer, we wrapped up last night’s dinner. I can walk you down, if you’re hungry. Meet the children.”

Breakfast. He hadn’t been thinking of breakfast outside of coffee and maybe grabbing a piece of toast. The idea of a proper breakfast was certainly enticing. The idea of company was not.

His stomach growled. The food won out.

“Breakfast sounds wonderful. Thank you, Morticia.”

He figured it was better not to mention he’s already met one of them -- although he didn’t know _which_ one -- the night prior. 

She smiled. “Come, then,” she said as she slowly meandered her way toward the stairs. “I doubt they’ll be down much longer.”

He nodded, waiting until she had fully turned around and started her way before shutting the door and shuffling forward toward her, robe trailing elegantly behind. 

“By the way,” she said, quirking an eyebrow. “I’m glad you like the bathrobe. It was a slight gamble on your size, so we went a bit large, but it’s always easier to take it in than add extra fabric.”

“Right.” Instinctively, he pulled it in closer to his body, ignoring the heat flushing in his face. So she did notice, but it was for him anyway. Of all the answers to his little litmus test, this was the one he expected the least. After all, they were just another temporary family. What on Earth made them think he deserved a gift like this? “Does that mean the turtleneck is also for me?”

“Indeed. We kept the receipt for that one, although it may be wise to go alone to return it.” She let out a small laugh. “Gomez made quite the scene at the department store and got in a dispute with an older woman arguing with the cashier over some expired coupons. Truly a dear, but sometimes he can’t hold his tongue.”

“I’m sure the woman deserved it,” Goro said dismissively. 

“She did. But the poor cashier didn’t. It gave her quite a fright.” Morticia let out a few soft _tuts_. “Anyway, you appear better at holding your tongue than him, so the whole ordeal might go a bit more smoothly.”

“Perhaps.”

The two fell into a comfortable silence after that. In a few short minutes, Morticia pushed open the kitchen door. The smell of smoke permeated through the air, mingling with the more usual breakfast scents of sausage and coffee. Kitchenware hung haphazardly off the walls, and in the back he could barely make out an old woman with wild white hair stirring something in a large pot next to the butler he saw on the first day.

Closer to the door, the family all sat around an old wooden table. Gomez sat at the head, plate filled with a collection of breakfast food he completely ignored in favor of cooing at a pale toddler in the child seat with a full head of black hair happily sticking his fingers in pureed baby food. The two children sat down on either side of Gomez. The boy, chubby with short blond hair in a striped shirt sitting with his back toward Goro, didn’t notice his introduction at all, focused more on the mountain of black waffles on his plate. The girl, however, noticed him immediately, staring hard enough to bore holes straight through him if he allowed it. 

In the light of day, she was every bit as emotionless as she was from the night prior, though now he distinctly made out her long black dress. Goro pinned her as “twelve, probably” and moved on.

“Hello Akechi,” she said. 

“Wait you got to meet him already?” The boy pouted. The crack in his voice made Goro assume he was probably thirteen, maybe fourteen. “I thought he stayed in his room all day yesterday.”

“He did.”

 _She doesn’t miss a beat, doesn’t she?_ Goro thought. 

Still, it was too early for a fight, whether between the two children or one of them and himself. Not now, when he hadn’t even had his coffee. 

Thankfully, Gomez interjected before any sort of argument broke out. He broke away from the toddler long enough to beam at Akechi, exclaiming, “There you are! Your presence was sorely missed last night at dinner. Missed out on meeting Fester too. Ah, but he’ll be back tonight after his day with the Amor twins.”

“He’s exaggerating. You had no obligation to appear last night,” Morticia said gently. “Here, go ahead and sit down. I’ll make a plate for you.”

“Thank you, Morticia.” Goro nodded, taking the empty seat next to the boy. “Some coffee too, if it’s made.”

“It’s no trouble. For as long as you slept, you clearly deserve the break.” He watched her dip toward the back of the kitchen as she grabbed at all sorts of food still on the stove.

“Now, Akechi,” Gomez said, forcing his attention back to the table. “It sounds like you’ve met our darling daughter Wednesday already.” Gomez gestured to the girl sitting across from him, who continued to stare at him. “And our oldest son here is my boy Puglsey!” He gestured at Pugsley, who Goro sent a polite nod. “Nor can we forget the youngest Addams, our dearest Pubert.”

The toddler, apparently aware his name was called, giggled. Gomez reached over and ruffled Pubert’s short, dark hair.

Conversation after that was pleasant and simple, mostly Gomez speaking highly of his three children and his wife. Once Morticia got his food -- a simple breakfast of waffles dyed black like Pugsley’s and a few sausage links, with a cup of coffee -- it dipped off while he instead focused on his food. 

Once the food was finished, Goro focused wholly on the coffee. It was familiar, the fresh citrus flavor cutting through the sweetness of the waffles. Before he realized what happened, he said, “Columbian Typica.”

If Gomez’s grin could get wider, Goro’s certain it would. Instead, he slammed his hand down on the table, silverware clanking around them. “Excellent! The boy knows his coffee!”

“Please, it’s nothing like that.” Goro gave him a sheepish smile, although he found himself sitting straighter in his chair at the praise, “I had an acquaintance back in Tokyo who lived in a café. When I started spending my free time there, he told me the different names and I tasted their flavor profiles.”

Oh, and how that day felt like a decade away instead of a year at most. Ren texted him late in the evening, excitedly telling him he got the okay to use the equipment for experimentation without Sakura’s complete guidance and wanted Goro as a guinea pig. The whole night ended as a bit of a not-quite-date, not-quite continuation of their little competition, where Ren did his best to impress him with coffee facts and samples for several hours until the two finally separated early in the morning. He even went so far as to text Goro the different coffees they had that night, so he’d never forget when he went to order. What happened instead was another game between the two of them. Ren served him a random type of coffee, and Goro had to guess it. He ended up memorizing every type Leblanc served, all for the sake of winning.

“The information’s still on my phone,” he continued. “I’d be happy to read off what he sent later after I…” he trailed off, the edge of his mouth curving into the barest hint of a frown. 

_Shit_.

Panic gripped his chest. His phone. He dropped it yesterday, right before the sword fight, and everything afterward so fast he completely forgot it. Maybe the butler brought it up and slipped it inside his suitcase? Oh God he hoped so. Gift from Shido or not, it was one of the few remnants he had of his life in Japan. It had all his music, his episodes of Featherman, his e-books, all the texts from Ren-

He stood up, forcing himself slowly up. “Oh, I’m sorry. I realized I forgot something in my room. Thank you for the conversation and the food, really.”

Goro picked up his couple dishes, leaving them unceremoniously in the sink where the butler was washing the pots and pans, walking slowly out of the kitchen until he knew none of the family could see him bolt back up the stairs toward his room.

He swore Wednesday cracked the smallest smirk on his way out. 

Fortunately, Goro didn’t have to look long. As soon as he entered, sitting underneath where he placed the sword last night on the vanity was an unfamiliar flash of white. 

Paper. A note. Something that most definitely wasn’t there when he first went in his room last night. And considering he locked the door after her little intrusion, and her reaction when he left the kitchen…

There was no doubt in his mind. This was the real reason for Wednesday’s visit. And in his exhaustion, he hadn’t noticed until now.

**_I have your phone._ **

**_If you want it back you’ll have to find it._ **

**_Can you do that, detective?_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact for everyone I learned while triple checking personalities, Pugsley's original name was supposed to be Pubert as a joke he was entering puberty but it was deemed too sexual for a 1960s show. The movie naming their third child Pubert is a reference to Pugsley's near name!

**Author's Note:**

> To anyone still here, feel free to check out my [Twitter](https://twitter.com/stormscourge) or [Tumblr](https://chuckling-chemist.tumblr.com/), the former of which I'll be livetweeting my experience playing Control when/if I stop being terrible at it!


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